


Unnecessary Sacrifice

by EvelynThursday



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Abstinence, Fasting, Fever, Illnesses, Lent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6357460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvelynThursday/pseuds/EvelynThursday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Cardinal + Lent + illness = a really bad combination and Treville is sure that Richelieu’s Lent sacrifice is not worth his life. Written for the Trevilieu Easter Mass 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unnecessary Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Trevilieu Easter Mass 2016 with the themes of sacrifice, fasting and abstinence.  
> It would seem that every time I try to write something it turns out as whump. I hope the characters aren’t as OOC as I fear they are. *crosses fingers*Please ignore any dubious religious or medical references here, call it artistic licence.

“You look terrible.”

The First Minister of France scowled at the Captain of the Musketeers as he strode across the grand room in the palace.

“Well you don’t look in the height of health yourself, Treville,” was the growled reply.

“Well I would look better of this damned cold would go away.” Treville swiped at his dripping wet nose with a handkerchief. “And it looks like to me that you might be coming down with the same illness. We have spent enough time around each other lately that you probably have caught what I have.” Richelieu smirked slightly at the memory of their meetings, to all others they were discussing matters of politics but they were really just relishing each other’s company. By day they had to steal glances and the odd brush of fingers when passing documents in front of the King but in the evening they got to sit pressed together on a settee as they read from the same book. Sodomy was a sin in the eyes of God but that didn’t mean they couldn’t kiss in the firelight or hold hands during a private dinner.

“I can assure you Captain I am not. The country needs me. And no mere illness will make me sick.”

“Hmmm.” The Captain hummed in uncertainty. He wasn’t fooled by the Cardinal’s platitudes and stood by his original statement – he did look terrible, and his voice just didn’t sound right too. Possibly sick enough that he shouldn’t be seeing the King but he knew that any suggestion in that direction would only earn him a glare in return.

But that thought was broken as the large double doors to the throne room opened and they were called inside.

The King, in his usual exuberant way, wished the pair a good morning, nattering to them about how crisp the air felt this sunny early spring morning and how beautiful his wife looked in the new dress she had bought. The two men, in their usual way, didn’t pay too much attention to the words being said and just nodded their heads and ‘umm’d’ and ‘ahh’d’ at appropriate moments. They were here to help run the country, not listen to the King enjoy the sound of his own voice as he paced across the room.

Treville spent most of the time looking at Richelieu out of the corner of his eye. The man didn’t look as well as he said he was and that was giving him cause for concern. He seemed to be getting worst as the minutes ticked by.

The King seemed to have noticed too as he stopped his monologue and examined his adviser’s pale and slightly sweaty face.

“Are you alright, my dear Cardinal? You are looking a little under the weather today.”

“A mild cold, your Majesty,” he assured him. “Nothing to worry about.” The Captain and the Cardinal shared a glance when the King turned away, Treville scowling at Richelieu at his earlier lie.

"Well then Cardinal, I hope you will be feeling better soon. I hate being ill, I don't know how you can stand being out of bed. But if you are well enough we shall proceed with business for the day."

He turned towards the door behind him and walked towards it, expecting the Cardinal and the Captain to follow him. The door led to a smaller room, with a long table running down the center. It was to the head of this that the King then sat, Richelieu settling at his right hand and Treville opposite him to the King's left. Between them on the table was a small mound of parchment, mostly letters and Treville internally groaned at the amount of work it looked like they had to do.

"First off, Captain," said the King, passing Treville a handful of letters bearing the seals of some minor country nobles. "I have been hearing that there are some thieves ransacking some villages near Rennes. I expect your men to sort it out, the Queen wishes to visit the shrine of St Cornelius at Carnac in a month and I want that area to be safe. Now Cardinal, about those taxes..."

 

As the rectangles of light cast from the nearby windows moved across the room as the morning progressed Richelieu slowly started to look worse and worse. He started to talk less (though Treville acknowledged to himself that he didn't speak much to start off with), started attempting to discreetly dab at his nose with a crumpled laced edged handkerchief and his skin started to take on the complexion of the Garrison's bed linens at the end of wash day.

Treville was paying more attention to the Cardinal than the letter in his hand and was wondering when to draw attention to the Cardinal's obvious ill health when the man suddenly spoke.

"Excuse me, your majesty, I need to..."

Both King and Captain were quite alarmed when the Cardinal stood up, paled as white as a sheet then collapsed in a mess of robes on the floor. Treville rushed to his side, concern and fear tumbling round his stomach in a sick making way. Richelieu had fallen face down so Treville turned him over with great care then searched for a pulse. His skin was hot and sweaty and the pulse that the thankfully found was rapid and not as strong as he would like. He was still completely limp and not showing any signs of coming round any time soon.

“I think he has fainted, your Majesty. I believe he is sicker than he let on.” He turned round to the King who was standing in the middle of the room looking anxious and more like a little boy than the King of France. “I am going to fetch a healer,” he said, aware that despite how strongly he wanted to stay with the Cardinal he couldn’t order the King around like one of his men, “and escort him back here myself. If your Majesty would provide a room I will instruct some servants to take the Cardinal somewhere private to be examined.”

“Of course, of course,” said Louis, flustered at the sudden ill health that had overcome his precious advisor. “Get Lemay, my personal physician. The Cardinal will only get the best of care. And make haste, I want him well as soon as possible. I shall look after the Cardinal whilst you are gone.”

Treville left the room as fast as he could go without running, desperate to get to Lemay and be back by his love’s side as quickly as possible. He only paused to stop some palace servants and order them to fetch a stretcher “because the Cardinal has taken ill” and to take him wherever the King commanded before striding off to the stables. Thankfully his trip to the part of Paris where the surgeon lived was quick, and as Lemay understood the urgency, they were on their way back to the palace in minutes.

Stepping through the large, ornate double doors of the equally ornate building, Treville caught the attention of a passing servant and asked where to find the Cardinal. He hurried in the direction he had been pointed, heart hammering fast in his worry. How sick was Armand? Was there a chance that he could have passed away whilst he was getting the physician, leaving him without a chance to say goodbye? The fear was making him feel sick as he tried to project an outward calm, heart feeling like it was beating three times between the sound of each rapid footfall that echoed off the walls down the long corridor. Lemay was hot on his heels, eager to see his patient.

Treville knew he had reached the right room when he came across two Red Guard standing at parade rest either side of a doorway. He nodded at the two guards and knocked on the door. There was a slight pause before a voice on the other side of the closed door permitted him to enter. He found the King standing by the room's single bed, still looking a little flustered. Seeing who it was that had entered he sunk back onto his chair, grasping the Cardinal's limp hand once again.

Richelieu was laid out on the double bed still wearing his robes and was looking just as pale as when Treville had left him.

After shutting the door behind him Lemay rushed to his patient's side.

"Your Majesty," he said, dropping his bag at the bedside and dragging a nearby chair within easy reach. "Captain Treville has informed me of current events. Has the Cardinal awoken at all?"

"No, he has not," said the King, voice rising hysterically. "You have got to cure him of this malady, Lemay. I don't know what I would do without my Cardinal."

"I will do my very best, your Majesty," the surgeon replied. "If you wouldn't mind I would like to examine my patient in private. I may not know him well but I'm sure the Cardinal wouldn't want an audience. I will make sure you are notified with my findings and if his condition changes."

"Yes, yes, of course," said the King, reluctantly letting go of the Cardinal's hand and standing. "If there is anything you need you just have to name it."

"I require a servant or a guard to be stationed by the door, someone who could fetch some supplies for me and give me a hand undressing the Cardinal."

"You shall have two of each at your command, Lemay. You shall not be wanting for anything. Come, come, Treville, the Cardinal is in the best of care. Let's let the man work his wonders in peace."

Treville dragged himself out of that room with every ounce of his self control. Every single piece of his heart wanted to stay in that room and make sure that his love was going to be alright. But for the sake of their reputation (not to mention both of their lives!) he had to leave.

The rest of the morning was spent finishing up what paperwork they could do without the Cardinal despite neither of them really having their full attention on their work. At lunch time the King called the work finished and offered Treville a light lunch at the Palace. With concern swirling sickly round his gut he graciously refused, stating that he had training to run at the garrison and that his lingering illness was affecting his appetite.

The King let him leave with a wish of better health and to pray for the Cardinal’s quick recovery. He took his leave of the palace via Richelieu’s sick room, where Lemay had completed his assessment and told him that the Cardinal had been stricken with what seemed to be a cold that somehow had gotten a strong grip on him. He did not know how he had become sick enough to faint but was tentatively optimistic of a full recovery if he could get the fever down. He promised Treville that he would send word to the Garrison if his charge worsened and that he could visit the sick man later in the day. Though the words were spoken with hope Treville could hear the underlying worry and left with no less concern than when he had arrived with the doctor a few hours earlier.

He rode back to the garrison with a heavy heart. If he and Richleau were a man and a woman they could stay together and nurse whoever was sick back to health without any worry. But alas they were two men, who in the eyes of the law and the church were wrong and immoral and should be shamed and punished if found loving each other so they had to part ways for the time being.

Back at the Garrison and putting his horse away in the stables he hoped for an easy and quiet day, away from attention so he could worry in peace. Things were not to be.

He found his four most troublesome Musketeers lounging at the bottom of the stairs.

"Was everything alright at the palace?" Asked Athos. "We were expecting you back two hours ago." Treville rubbed his face with a hand and a sigh, only just remembering that he had asked the four to meet him so they could go over preparations for a mission they were to go on later in the week.  

"The Cardinal suddenly took ill," the Captain replied tiredly. "I did not have time to send you a message to reschedule our meeting. I can only apologise. As we are all here shall we go up to my office?"

As he climbed the stairs he could hear his men murmur amongst themselves behind him. It was known that none his Musketeers considered the Cardinal an ally of theirs (though most conceded that he generally had the country's well being at heart, most of the time) but that didn't stop the ill feeling words from striking a chord whenever he heard them, especially when they came from his closest men. So he schooled his features into impassiveness as he tried not to listen to the harsh words directed towards the Cardinal being muttered behind his back.

 

The day passed slowly and by supper time he was desperate to go back to the palace and see how his love was faring. There had been no news, so he hoped that meant that he was improving, but the concern he felt couldn’t be dissipated until he saw the proof with his own two eyes. He ate the meal Serge had prepared for him without tasting it and as all the Musketeers but the night guard went home or headed to the taverns he crossed the courtyard to the stables and readied his horse. The journey to the palace seem to take longer that the first time he had done it that day, despite there being less people on the road.

He was relieved to be walking down the same echoey corridor that he had that morning as that meant that he was nearly at his destination. But that feeling left him when he saw the guarded door. He paused, fearful now of stepping any closer. He did not know what was behind it; was Armand in good health or was he fighting for his life, message of his imminent demise lost on the streets of Paris. He did not dare to think of him lying dead behind that door, awaiting the undertakers to lay him out in state before his funeral.

Treville took a deep breath, schooled his features into one of impassiveness and stepped forwards once more. There was a slight hesitation before he knocked on the wood but he forced himself to move; he had spent the entire day waiting for this moment after all.

He heard Lemay bid him enter and reached for the handle, attempting to squash the sick feeling rising in his chest and for his heart to calm its rapid beat.

The first thing he saw when he entered the room was the physician sitting in a chair by the bedside, backlit by the warm orange light from the evening sun. Then he looked at the occupant of the bed.

Richelieu was curled on his side facing the door and was slowly blinking awake. He was dressed now in a white linen sleep shirt. Beside him were several crumpled handkerchiefs and a book open under one hand as if he had fallen asleep reading it. The tight band around Treville’s chest finally started to release at the sight.

“Ah, Captain,” said Lemay, rising from his chair. “I hoped you would pay us a visit.  If you wouldn’t mind I would like to speak to you outside.”

A few minutes later they were strolling down the slowly darkening corridors, passing large windows that looked out onto well maintained palatial gardens. They stayed away from the well used parts of the palace so that their conversation wasn’t overheard.

 “I believe,” said Lemay, after a moment. “That each person has a right that to keep the state of their health private. I have never broken my word before but I believe this to be a special case. What I am about to tell you I have not told anyone, not even the King, at the Cardinal’s insistence." Treville looked at the doctor confused but waited for him to speak. "The Cardinal passed out from dehydration brought on by a heavy cold. From what he has told me he has been hiding how sick he was and had been taking herbs to hide his symptoms. Whilst not ideal this is not why I am so concerned. The dehydration was caused by him refusing all food and water. I’ve tried to get water into him but he is refusing and won’t tell me why. Perhaps you, Captain, might have better luck than I. If he doesn’t stop withholding water from himself he is going to die."

By now they had completed a circuit and were approaching the door they had just left a little time before. Treville was shocked at what Lemay was saying. The severity of his illness, enough to make him collapse, was self inflicted?!

"I shall leave you alone," says Lemay. "I shall be back in half an hour though if you require me to be longer you only need to tell the guards and I will not interrupt you. They are also on hand to fetch a servant, or me, if you need anything."

"Thank you Lemay," said Treville, one hand on the gilded door handle. "I will endeavour to make sure France doesn't lose its First Minister to this illness."

The Cardinal was still lying down, staring at the ceiling though he looked towards the door when it opened then quietly shut. Treville stood by the door and an awkward quiet settled around the room.

“Jean,” murmured the occupant of the bed after a moment.

“Armand.” There was a pause are the two men looked at each other before Treville moved. He couldn’t stand the silence a moment longer and rushed to the bedside, sitting on the edge and giving Armand a long kiss on the lips. He gave a slightly hysterical huff of laughter and rested his forehead on his lover’s. “You don’t know how worried I’ve been all day. I really thought I had lost you when you collapsed this morning. What’s this silly thing about you not eating or drinking?” Richelieu turned his face away, breaking the contact then started to shift to get his elbows under him.

“Help me up, Treville. I will not speak to you lying down.”

The Captain felt a shock of dread at the name change but helped him rise so that he was sat up, back resting against the head of the bed.  Whilst they were in private they always used their given names, leaving their surnames to be used when they were doing their jobs and being rivals and not lovers.  To use it now meant that Armand was building a mental wall around himself.

“I suppose Lemay told you...”

“About you refusing food and drink yes.” Treville snapped. “Why are you doing such a stupid thing? You are sick, you need all the food and water you can take.”

“I vowed that during this Lent I would not let anything pass my lips from sun up to sun down,” was the calm reply. “I must stick to it no matter my health.”

Words failed Treville as he tried to comprehend what he had been told. Meanwhile Richelieu was finding that sitting up was making his head ache and swim and his vision started to grey around the edges. He didn’t notice himself slipping sideways until a pair of hands caught him by the shoulders and a panicked voice called his name.

Treville was alarmed when Armand started to list sideways, eyes blank and staring into the middle distance.

“Armand!” He grabbed the Cardinal by the shoulders and settled him back onto the pillows. He spotted a beaker of water next to a jug on the bedside table, obviously left from Lemay’s attempts as getting the patient to drink, and grabbed it, pressing it to the not quite conscious man’s lips.

“Drink, Armand,” he muttered, hoping that he would be obeyed.

At first it seemed like he would accept the water but just as his lips were wetted Armand came to full awareness and violently pushed the cup away. Water splashed over Treville’s fingers at the force of the shove.

“No Jean, it is not yet dark. I must keep my vow.”

“Why are you doing this? You are killing yourself! And I for one don’t want that to happen, not if I can help it. I don’t think I could bare it. Lemay said you collapsed because of dehydration and as you haven’t drunk anything since then it is still affecting you. You’ve just passed out from sitting upright in bed, that’s not healthy!”

Treville could feel an anger build up within himself, all the worry and fear from the day fuelling the fire in his chest. He brandished the cup in his love’s face.

“Drink it, damn you!”

Richelieu looked up from his recumbent position, resigned, seemingly too weak for any other emotion.

“Stop fighting me, Jean,” he sighed. “I made my promise to God and I will not break it.”

“If you do not drink this water, Armand, God help me I will force it down your throat!”

“Do not make me break my vow, Jean. This is my penance.” At the sound of his love’s weak voice, Treville slipped off the bed to kneel on the floor, lowering his head onto the sheets and tried to hold back tears, all anger gone and replaced by despair. Why was the man he loved torturing himself?

“I spent the whole day worrying about you and then I find your collapse was self inflicted? Why do I love you if you do things like this? Do I mean so little to you?”

“I am doing this because I love you,” was the quiet reply. “I must repay God in this way to thank him for putting you into my life. My existence would be joyless without you in my life and for that I must forgo something. Lent is the time for sacrifice and I could not let this time go without marking the occasion lest he took you away from me. We both know that your job is a perilous one and I want you by my side for as long as I can make it.”

Treville put the cup still in his hand back onto the side table reluctantly. It would seem that Richelieu’s stubborn streak, which was so fun to butt heads against in the courtroom, was this time unbreakable, even at the cost to his health. And life.

“But how can I be with you if you die?” Armand shifted onto his side to he could get a better look at his love who was still sitting on the floor, arms crossed on the bed and chin resting on top. He couldn’t resist running one weak hand through Jean’s short hair.

“Oh Jean, my Jean. This illness will not beat me and I do not want to leave you. But if I die it is God’s will and who am I to stand in his way? And I hope one day, far off into the future, you will be by my side once again.”

“I don’t think you realise just how sick you really are. If you were one of my men I would hold you down and force you to drink like I heard Aramis forced you drink that emetic during that business of the devil worshipping Countess. I would have thought after that brush with death you would be more careful with your life.”

“It will soon be dark and once the sun is down I shall break this day’s fast. Jean, you worry yourself too much. It is a minor miracle that you let your Musketeers out of your sight.” Treville ignored the barb that was meant to distract him.

“But you will fast again in the morning.”

“Well, that was the point of my vow.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“Your reaction right now is why I didn’t tell you.”

“You are so infuriating. Why do I love you?”

Their conversation paused at this point as the light in the room faded and Richelieu dozed off, one hand resting on Treville’s elbow. He woke again as his hand was gently moved and he heard Jean groan as he stood up, joints popping and cracking as they protested at being folded up against a hard floor. He dozed again, listening to Jean as he lit the candles dotted around the room, feeding the fire and closing the curtains against the cold of the night and murmured to someone behind the door of the room.

He only woke fully when there was a loud knock at the door and once Treville opened it he could see Lemay enter the room carrying a bowl of steaming soup and behind him was a servant carrying a small jug and a basket of wood. The jug went on the side table and the basket by the fire and the servant retreated from the room again without saying a word or looking in the direction of anyone.

Lemay looked at his patient happily.

“I hear you are ready to try and eat something! I’ll admit that I don’t know what this soup is but I’m assured by the kitchen staff that it is your favourite. And it does smell delicious. Captain Treville, if you could help the Cardinal sit upright we’ll see if he can manage the spoon by himself.”

After a few minutes of protests and some words unfit to be heard in the presence of a lady, the Cardinal found himself sitting supported against the Captain behind him as the doctor feed him the soup, Richelieu’s hands proven to be too shaky to hold the spoon despite his assurances to the contrary and the continual messy attempts until he had to concede defeat. Thankfully the only casualty in that battle was a blanket that was now crumpled by the door waiting for the soup stains to be washed out in the morning.

Armand managed just over half the bowl before he had to admit that his stomach wasn’t able to take any more, illness sapping his appetite despite the day long fast. Treville wished that he had eaten more but was glad that he had eaten something and had also managed a few sips from the jug of fruit juice that the servant had brought earlier.

After settling his patient in his bed once more Lemay drew Treville down the corridor again, asking what he had done to make Richelieu eat something. The Captain sighed and rubbed a hand over his tired face.

“His sacrifice for Lent is to fast from sun up till sun down and it seems that he is sticking to it despite this sickness.” Lemay looked grave.

“That is not what I was hoping to hear. But I shall make sure I can get him to drink as much liquid as I can overnight, even if that means I won’t sleep until the morning. I shall look after him Captain.”

Treville accompanied the doctor back to the sick room and after extracting a promise to send for him if the Cardinal got worse he took one long last look at the peacefully sleeping man and left the palace for his own bed.

 

The next morning Treville was too busy to travel to the palace but his thoughts didn’t waver from the health of his love. If his men noticed his distraction they thankfully didn’t mention it.

Around lunchtime he heard a clattering of boots on the stairs and he looked up from his papers just as a teenager, just on the cusp of adulthood, barged into his office. Before he could demand an explanation to this intrusion the boy thrust a slightly crumpled piece of paper at him and panted out his message.

“Doctor Lemay requires you at the palace immediately.”

Treville immediately stood up and hurried out of the room, grabbing the note as he passed the boy not even thanking him in his anxious hurry to get to the palace. As he rushed down the stairs he glanced at the paper and he read the ominous words it contained - ‘Come quickly, the Cardinal has taken a turn for the worse. Lemay.’

As he crossed the yard he shouted at Athos, who was in the middle of sparring with d’Artagnan, to follow him into the stable. As he saddled his horse he charged Athos with running the garrison as he was needed at the Palace and didn’t know how long he would be there for.

The journey passed in a blur of desperation, wanting to coax his horse to run as fast as possible yet having to take it slow in the crowded streets of Paris.

When he got to the Cardinal’s sick room he was dismayed to find the King and Queen there. Things must be grave if they had been summoned too.

The King was sitting on an ornate chair at the far side of the bed, the Queen standing at his side with a comforting hand on his shoulder. Richelieu was lying propped up in the bed, looking barely awake and older than he had the evening before. Lemay looked just as tired where he sat in the corner, obviously he had kept his word and stayed awake all night. The King was speaking, slightly hysterically, eyes wet with tears that had not yet fallen.

“You will recover, Cardinal, you will not die, I forbid it! I will not let you leave my side, I need my advisor.” He took a calming breath.  “Rest well, Cardinal, the Queen and I will pray for your quick recovery.” He stood up and regally swept out of the room, the Queen following, both nodding at him on the way past where he stood just outside the room.

“Captain,” said Lemay tiredly as Treville walked into the room. “I’m glad you came. He is still sticking to his vow and I believe that if he doesn’t break it he is going to die before the day is out. I did manage to get him to drink more juice and eat more soup overnight but as soon as the sun rose he refused everything again. I had hoped he would last until this evening but a few hours ago his fever rose and I can’t do anything to lower it other than to bathe him.”

Lemay rose stiffly and crossed to the bed, taking up a cloth off the nearby cabinet and dipping it in the bowl of water left under the chair where the King had previously sat. The cloth was drawn across the Cardinals forehead and cheeks in an attempt to lower his fever. Armand’s eyes had now closed and his lips were dry and cracked, skin pale. He did not seem to be aware of the attention he was getting. If Treville could not see him breath he would think that he was dead.

“He has been like this since his fever rose,” Lemay continued. “I have managed to wake him but with difficulty and I don’t think he is fully awake but the rest of the time he is deeply asleep. Even if he does start eating and drinking now I cannot guarantee his survival, he is just too weak to fight this illness.” The doctor breaks off his words as a yawn over takes him. Treville can see just how exhausted the man is.

“Why don’t you go sleep for an hour,” he says to him. “I would be happy to sit with him whilst you rest and I can call for you if you are needed. You are asleep on your feet.”

“I think you are right. I can’t do much for my patient in this state. The King has provided me a bed in the next room but I have not yet had time to use it. Do not hesitate to get me for any reason, I am not far away. Try and get him to drink something, there is still fruit juice in the jug on the bedside table and with it are some vials of fever reducing herbs. Other than that the only thing you can do is try and keep him cool and pray for his recovery.”

After Lemay had left the room and shut the door behind him Treville carefully sat down on the edge of the bed and started dabbing the damp cloth on the face of the sleeping occupant. His heart clenched at the sight of his love lying there so helpless and sick and he felt tears burning in his eyes.

“Oh Armand,” he whispered, heartbroken.

Hearing that everything outside the room was quiet and with Lemay sleeping and unlikely to disturb them for a while Treville put the cloth back on the bed side table and stretched out over the bed on top of the blankets to lie beside his lover. He pressed a kiss onto his cheek and an arm across his chest, holding him close. This may be the last time he and Armand laid together. A tear slid down the Captain’s face.

“Jean,” breathed a quiet scratchy voice.

“Armand,” he murmured back.

Richelieu turned his head to look at the man beside him, first with confusion, then as he woke up more, with horror.

“Jean, you can’t be here like this,” he croaked. “If you are caught lying here with me you are liable to be hung. Even the Kings good graces wouldn’t stop him having to pass judgement. Fatal judgment.”

“I don’t care,” Treville replied vehemently. “As you are so intent in killing yourself I want to be with you. I have a man who is to take my position as Captain and I know he will lead the Musketeers well. I am not leaving you. I am responsible for your death as much as you and I will suffer through any penance I have to pay.”

“Oh Jean. I don’t mean to die, but where is your part in this?”

“You caught this illness off me. If you had told me of your desire to fast I would have stayed away until my cold had passed. But you didn’t and now look where it has brought you. Please don’t make me be the cause of your death.”

Silence reigned for a few minutes as both men lost themselves to their thoughts. Treville tried to keep his emotions in check but the despair inside his heart was hard to control. He always figured that he would lose Armand quickly, a victim of assignation or other attack on the First Minister of France, if he, the Captain of the Musketeers, did not die first, not this slow, lingering demise. He could cope with the quick death, knowing that he died for the country that he loved but he couldn’t cope with this. It shouldn’t be happening.

“Lent is nearly over,” Treville whispered to the Cardinal, thinking that he had fallen asleep again. “Surely God will forgive missing the last week in favour of your health. Of your life.”

But Richelieu heard those words and added them to his own thoughts. Jean was right, he had fulfilled his promise to the best of his ability without sacrificing his life and possibly that of his love’s too. God was forgiving and could forgive this. And he could continue his vow during Lent next year.

He knew the love could make people do stupid things and wasn’t happy to find out that it affected him too. Why else would he cause himself to get to the edge of death to try and ensure one man would stay in his life for as long as possible? But now that Jean had wormed his way into his heart he knew that he couldn’t cut him out without damaging the soft organ with the dagger, not that he wanted to cut him out anyway. He would have to be more careful and make sure that love didn’t make him do any other stupid things, lest their relationship be found out and they are separated, at best, or put to death at worse.

“Jean,” Armand whispered. “I believe I could take a little broth, if you would help me.”  Jean looked at him for a second, not really believing what he was hearing before racing towards the door and demanding whoever was standing behind it to “fetch a bowl of broth and be damned quick about it!”

“Does this mean you have ended your vow?” Asked Treville when he rejoined him on the bed, sitting on the edge this time now that they were likely to be disturbed without warning.

“Until next year,” Richelieu replied, accepting the glass of juice pressed to his lips. As the taste of sweet apples swept across his tongue he realised just how sick he was. The juice was heaven for his dry mouth and throat, easing the thirst that had been relentless for the last few days. He hadn’t realised he was dozing off until the glass was removed from his mouth and something cool and wet was wiped across is forehead. He stayed for a little while in that comforting half sleep, reluctantly leaving it when he was relentlessly shaken by the shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Jean smiling at him.

“Nice of you to finally wake up, you worried me there for a second.  I’ve got some broth for you to eat and then I’ll let you sleep. Let’s get you up before you doze off again!”

The broth was warm and filling and somehow the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Treville sat behind him, sitting against the wall at the head of the bed, spoon feeding him the liquid, Richelieu’s hand even more unsteady than the day before. He was feeling so rotten that he didn’t care about the indignity of the feeding method, he only cared that Jean was close and that he was finally eating the food that his body had so desperately craved.

He slept again for a while only once awoken by a kiss and Treville’s whispered apology that he was needed back at the Garrison but would be back by the evening meal. Lemay woke him the next few times, making him drain a cup of water and a vial of herbs before letting him sleep once more.

It was dusk the next time he woke, the sun casting its last golden rays across his ceiling. He could hear Lemay and Treville murmur to each other from across the room.

“I don’t know how you did it but thanks to you I’m starting to think that the Cardinal will survive this illness. It is not certain but now there is hope when there was none.”

“I didn’t do much, I think he changed his opinion on his own. What does the King know?”

“I have kept to the Cardinal’s wishes and just told him that the Cardinal was very sick, with the possibility that he may not survive his illness. I called him in earlier, just before you came, because the situation seemed grave. I will be updating him later so I should be able to give him better news.”

There was a knock on the door that interrupted their conversation. Lemay let the servant in, who placed a steaming bowl on the table with a spoon and left. Treville crossed to the bed, intending to wake the occupant but smiled when he found Richelieu already awake.

Supper passed the same was as did lunch, with the two men feeding the Cardinal as he tried not to fall asleep mid mouthful.

“I think I’m beginning to be more certain of his survival,” said Lemay to Treville just as he was going to leave for his bed at the Garrison. “Being awake just before dinner can only be a good sign. There will be a few hard days ahead of us as he battles this illness but he seems to be strengthening and likely to survive.

Treville left the palace that night with hope in his heart.

He slipped from the Garrison from time to time over the next week, visiting the Cardinal at the Palace and then at the Palais-Cardinal when he was well enough to be moved. If his men though that his behaviour was odd or suspicious they didn’t mention it, for which he was truly thankful.

Richelieu spent the first few days suffering from the fever, sometimes speaking in his sleep. If Lemay heard anything incriminating he wisely kept his mouth shut. But every day he grew stronger and by the fourth day had beaten the fever and was just left with a lingering weakness and desire to just eat and sleep.

By the next week the Cardinal was doing his duty again, advising the King and getting into verbal sparring matches with the Captain whilst the King rolled his eyes at the usual arguments, as if his close brush with death had never happened.

Life went back to normal.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure I’m happy with my writing here, I might go over it and reedit it at some point in the future. There is also less snuggles than I hoped so I might just have to work out a snuggle fic for them at some point. Though to me they don’t really seem to be the type for traditional snuggles.


End file.
